


where did you go (oh where am i)

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:50:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: Things are broken, promises are made, and the world carries on.Season one AU from Yes Men on.





	where did you go (oh where am i)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to go to the end notes to see what the implied/referenced non-con/rape is referring too!
> 
> For the ask 'Biospec , "Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.” Thanks!' over on tumblr -- with some minor edits (no hey, really, that's it.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, uh,” Skye breaks the tense silence that’s fallen over the team, “who knew that Simmons was gay?”

Fitz makes a high-pitched noise in his throat but continues to stare down at the tablet in his hands. He’s, theoretically, trying to track Simmons with the Dwarfs but isn’t having much luck with it.

Grant expects Coulson to say something soothing, bring them all together in that way he’s weirdly good at, but he doesn’t. He’s staring at his hands and Grant can practically see the guilt eating away at him.

Skye opens her mouth, closes it, and doesn’t say anything else.

Everything is quiet except for the soft click of Fitz’s fingernails against the screen and the clock over the couch.

“Should you even be out of bed?” Grant asks, because he can’t stand the silence anymore, shooting a pointed look at Skye.

“Who’s going to –“ she cuts herself off and goes even paler.

“I will,” Grant says, standing up, because wherever she was going to go with that thought wasn’t anywhere good and he can’t deal with more ‘not good’ today. Not now.

Skye allows herself to be helped from the couch, the lack of protests nearly as jarring as the silence still is. She doesn’t say anything, actually, until Grant is helping her back into the bed and – because it’s what Simmons would want – preparing to draw some blood.

He’s not going to be able to run the tests she has been, but he pretended to be a phlebotomist one time to get into a charity event and he can at least draw the blood so she’ll have the sample when she gets back.

Because she’s going to get back, he refuses to think she won’t.

“It’s my fault,” Skye says and Grant looks up from finding the right gauge needle to meet her gaze. She drops his, immediately, focusing on her fingers curling together in her lap. “I talked Coulson into taking her along because I just wanted her to stop hovering and –“ she chokes on a sob and Grant sits on the edge of her bed and pats her back.

Simmons would hug her, if the situation were reversed, if he were the one that –

“No,” he says, hand stilling on her back, “it’s my fault. I should’ve been there to watch her back – to make sure this didn’t happen to her.”

Skye shakes her head, dashes her own tears from her eyes and turns to frown at him. “If you were there then you’d both be – you’d both be gone.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking his hand off his shoulder and standing up so he can find the needle and jab her with it, “for your vote of confidence.”

“I didn’t mean – you’ll get her back,” she says, sounding more confident then he feels, “if anyone can, it’s you.”

“Yeah,” he says, finally finding what he’s looking for and turning back to Skye, who, to her credit, holds out her arm without any complaint, “I hope so.”

 

***

“I am _so_ sorry,” Simmons says, like she’s not the one who’s been hurt the most from this whole thing.

Grant wants to tell her to shut up – he wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her and tell her it’s normal to be upset about what happened to her and that she can stop pretending it’s fine and then he wants to kiss her until she forgets about…the rest of it. But he can’t do that. And not just because his arm is broken and his lip is busted.

“I’ve had worse,” he says, instead, as she frets over suturing up a cut she left in his shoulder. It’s a small cut – barely a scrape, really. She’s trying to wrap it in a second set of gauze when he grabs her hands to stop her. “Simmons – Jemma,” he tries to catch her eye but she’s staring fixedly at their hands and won’t look up. “I’m fine.” He uses his free hand to tilt her chin up, pleased when that, at least, makes her meet his gaze. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes,” she says, but her gaze drops and her voice wavers and he’s fairly sure she doesn’t even believe her lie. Her breath hitches in her chest and then she’s frowning at him, eyes fixed on his mouth. “But you’re _not_.” And she’s pulling away from him and going to grab some astringent that she’s going to dab uselessly at his cuts and bruises and –

He stands and grabs her, as soon as she bustles close again and tugs her into his embrace. It only occurs to him after he’s got his chin resting on the top of her head that this is probably a terrible idea – that there’s no way she wants someone to hold her, not after everything that’s happened.

But just when he’s going to let go of her and probably go and see if May will beat him up some for good measure she curls her arms around his waist and clutches the back of his shirt. The tears come quickly as he rubs her back and rocks her gently.

He’s not sure what to say – he can’t make it right, no one can.

But this isn’t like jumping out of a plane, this isn’t a trauma that exposure and toughing it through will help, and he doubts she’s going to be able to compartmentalize and ignore it like he did after his first seduction mission went south.

Her sobs are quieting and he still hasn’t said anything, so after making sure no one is around to hear, he holds her closer, tangles his hand in her hair, and whispers a promise into her ear. “I won’t let that ever happen to you again, Jemma, I promise – if I have to break the staff out of the Fridge and take care of it for you I will. I’m with you, okay? Always. And no one touches you that you don’t want touching you, ever again, okay?”

She nods against his chest and finally – finally, starts to relax.

He’s not surprised when she falls into an exhausted sleep there, not five minutes later, still with his shirt clutched in her hands. He’s fairly sure she hasn’t slept at all since she was taken – not if what that bitch implied was true.

 

***

 

Simmons and Skye are in the kitchen. Watching them bicker over the right way to cook something is like a breath of fresh air, and Grant feels tension he didn’t know he was holding fall from his shoulders.

Normally, Grant would leave them to it – retreat somewhere out of the blast radius, as it were. But it’s too comforting and he finds himself settling into one of the chairs that aren’t visible from the kitchen but let him hear them bustling about and arguing just fine.

“No,” Simmons is saying, alarmed and bossy – and isn’t it amazing that it’s a tone he’s missed? “You can’t do it like _that_.”

“What do you mean I can’t – how the hell else would I do it?” Skye demands, and if Grant closes his eyes to better picture them facing off it’s his own business.

He might drift a little though, as words of an argument waft in and out and the sharp bang of baking trays rouses him then settles him back to sleep.

“Simmons – Jemma,” Skye’s voice is soft now, and that’s what finally pulls him from his half doze.

“Skye,” Simmons sounds wary, and Grant can’t blame her – the use of her first name and the tone has his own skin tightening in concern.

“I don’t – you know we love you, right?” Skye rushes forward, “Not – not that anyone wouldn’t love you. You’re very loveable! I just meant…you never told me you were gay?”

Grant can hear Simmons sigh, and this time when she says Skye’s name it’s with this weight of censure that he can’t blame her for. “It doesn’t matter how much you love me, I don’t owe anyone the knowledge of my sexuality.” The sad noise Skye makes is fairly pitiful, and it clearly works on Simmons as she continues. “I’m not ashamed, and I’m not…a lesbian, if that’s what you were implying. I’ve always considered myself demisexual.”

There’s a rustle of fabric and skin and Grant thinks they’re probably hugging which – he would not have pegged that as a hugging moment, but what does he know?

“Which,” Simmons continues, her voice somewhat muffled now, “I guess is even more true, as I’m fairly sure that…That she counts as a demigod so…”

Skye’s horrified giggle chases Grant out of the room and all the way down to the punching bag.

 

***

There are too many strangers on the Bus.

There are too many strangers on the Bus and they’re treating it like any other base – like they’re allowed anywhere that doesn’t require access codes. Most of them do have the decency to stay out of the private quarters, but even if they didn’t that’s not Grant’s main complaint.

No, his main complaint is the group of agents who clearly have some hero worship thing going on with FitzSimmons and are apparently oblivious to social cues. He’s trying to behave, he really is, but after the third time he’s seen Simmons flinch back because someone is unexpectedly too close? Oh yeah, he’s had enough.

“Right,” he says to himself, eyes narrowed.

He walks into the lab, steps purposefully echoing as he strides quickly towards the group – most of them look over their shoulders, see him coming and scatter, a few don’t and he elbows them out of the way without any guilt, before turning around to face all of them. “Can I help you?” he asks, scowling and at his most antisocial.

“N-no,” stutters one poor, brave, agent. “We were just trying to –“

“Trying to get in the way of my teammates? _My_ teammates who are doing what they are supposed to be doing? Unless you were given the job of being obstacles for them to work through, I don’t think you should be here.” He starts to smile, halfway through his speech. That seems to scare more of them than not, and there is no complaint that’s actually directed at him as they scatter.

Oh, he can hear a few of them protest to their peers “but-but-but”, but he doesn’t care.

“That was rude,” Fitz says, but he too is shooting concerned glances at Simmons as she leans against the counter and takes deep breaths, so it’s hard to take his censure very seriously.

“I don’t like strangers,” Grant says, turning to glare out of the clear walls of the lab until the gawkers there start to turn their attention elsewhere as well.

“I’m fine,” Simmons says, voice tight as she struggles to settle again.

“Course you are,” Grant agrees with an easy smile, “I’m the one who doesn’t like strangers.”

The look she shoots him is so full of venom he can’t help but let his smile grow until she’s huffing in annoyance – but no longer fear – and turning away from both him and Fitz to continue on with her project.

Fitz shoots him a not at all subtle thumbs up and Simmons slams something on the table loud enough that he yelps and jumps.

Grant retreats to one of the far chairs to keep watch, satisfied with the new silence in the lab.

 

***

“Let her go,” Grant says, finger tapping against his still holstered ICER, “now.”

“Sir?” the agent asks, grip loosening but not releasing until Grant actually pulls the ICER and aims it at him, and then he steps back with his hands up. “Sir,” he protests this time, “we’re supposed to take them in.”

“Yes,” Grant agrees, “and we can do that without manhandling her, can’t we.” It’s not a question and the agent gulps and takes another step back.

Grant, on the other hand, steps forward until he’s within an arms length of her. “How about it, Simmons, you okay to walk there?”

She shoots him a poisonous glare, rubbing at her wrists where the agent had taken a firm hold. Fitz struggles on the other side of her. “You’re a traitor,” she says.

He shrugs, “Not really. I was never actually recruited by SHIELD, that was all just…incidental.”

She scoffs and he’s pretty glad to see she’s already angry, because she’d been terrified for a moment when the agent had grabbed her and he’d almost killed him before he’d realized the blood might be upsetting to her as well. “You’re a traitor to the team, then.”

He holds up his hands and shrugs, “I’m not breaking any of my promises to you, Jemma. You can walk away right now, no worries. But Fitz is coming with me, at least for a while. Your choice.”

She comes, just like he knew she would – and he only regrets it when Fitz does something that has Garrett collapsing and then they’ve run and locked themselves in one of the pods and –

“Fuck,” he says, glancing up the stairs and looking at the control panel. He’s fast running out of time and he has no more idea of how to work this than the halotable. He glances up the stairs again then approaches the side of the pod. “Simmons, tell me how to work this.”

“No,” she snarls at him through the glass, and he can’t blame her for her anger.

“Jemma,” he tries again, ducking his head slightly, “I don’t know how to eject this in a way that’s not going to lock you both in there as you plummet to your death. I don’t want to open it – Garrett isn’t going to separate you from Fitz right now, and he is going to kill Fitz if he can – so just tell me how to make it float.”

Jemma pales, but then Fitz is there at her side, arm tightly around her and Grant wants to snap because it’s clearly not making her feel better but Fitz can’t see that – but then Fitz is telling him how to make it float and – Grant shoots him a glare as he punches in the commands and watches them drop from the plane.

 

***

 

“Is Jemma okay?” Grant asks, first thing, when Coulson meets him on the other side of the barrier.

Coulson tilts his head and considers, and that’s enough of an answer for Grant to find himself slouching down in relief. “Why do you care?” he asks, instead of giving the verbal confirmation that Grant has already seen on his face.

Grant shrugs, picks at a spare thread on his cot. “I made her a promise,” he says, at last. “A few promises, I guess.” He shrugs, smiles, “and I don’t intend to break them.”

Coulson frowns and asks what he knows about Hydra.

Grant picks at his cot and answers – he’s not sure Coulson believes him, but until he’s out, giving Coulson the answers he needs about Hydra is the best he can do to keep Jemma safe.

It’ll be easier once he’s out. And that’s only a matter of time. 

**Author's Note:**

> The implied/referenced rape/non-con is that Lorelei has Jemma at the start of the fic, and how the aftermath are dealt with. 
> 
> And I'm almost done with comment replies (So only like 50 left?) so if you get a few more from me have no fear. It should be over soon. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Another shout out to everyone who does take the time to leave a comment on any work, you guys are amazing, thank you.
> 
> My writing tumblr can be found [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/)!


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